


Charismatic, Magnetic, Electric, And Everybody Knew Him. (how Hanschen grew up)

by ftwnhgn



Series: no written guidelines. [3]
Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Character Death, Domestic Bliss, F/F, Germany, Growing Up, Law School, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Slice of Life, Teen Years, Through the Years, Weddings, basically Hanschen growing up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9894827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftwnhgn/pseuds/ftwnhgn
Summary: A recount of Hanschen's life, from being a teenager to growing up, dealing with Bobby Maler not one but two times, having supportive but horrible friends, navigating the only real relationship in his life and helping the world one year at the time without knowing it.Or, Hanschen's life through the years.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am horrible at writing good summaries, I am sorry. But instead or writing my assignment for my final, I stayed up all night and finished this in a four-hour long writing session. I just love Hanschen Rilow a whole lot, there's no other reason. I even have a playlist with songs that remind me of him, I am weird in that special way.
> 
> This actually started as a practice on writing dialogues because I am the worst at it. Somehow it ended in several one-of-a-kind lifetime achievements. I wrote a hell lot of dialogues, despite my lack of talent for it. I wrote and finished something that's longer than 4k words and is not dealing with grief or tragedy as its main plot. The Title is from "National Anthem" from Lana Del Rey although I never listen to Lana Del Rey. I am posting something I wrote that's actually long, which is the biggest first of it all, maybe. Or maybe I am just dramatic that way.
> 
> As always, there are a billion meta-levels to discover here and it's basically my twist on Hanschen and my headcanon that he's the biggest softie inside but only shows it around the people he's closest to. Yay to three-dimensional characters that are more than just comic relief or an outlet of someone's weird fetish. Also, I watched the musical several times, but I only read bits and pieces of the play despite me being a german citizen. But, like, our sex-ed is hella cool and we learn all the important stuff when we're about thirteen and fourteen, so we basically never read it in school and busied ourselves with _Kabale und Liebe_ and _Faust_. (You should all read Faust, if you haven't, it's amazing and it's my favourite.) This also lacks any kind of sex although it's a big part of Hanschen's (teenage) life, but let's just say I wanted to explore his character beyond his usual tropes. 
> 
> One scene was inspired by me cruising through Instagram accounts of very artsy couples who like to paint onto each other and share it on social media with long and sappy captions. The rest was my wild imagination in the middle of the night. The only things not canon are that Ernst and Hanschen start their relationship before Moritz's death, oh and Wendla and her child survive. No women dying on me here.
> 
> I am super conscious about my grammar for I am, as mentioned, not a native speaker and if I messed up tenses or there are several grammatical errors, my apoligies. I tried to do my best and even proof-read. Nevertheless, I will shut the fuck up now and leave you to it.

“I always thought you dyed your hair,” Ilse says as she plops down onto the ground next to Hanschen and threads a hand through his hair in curiosity, as if she hasn’t seen it for nearly every day of their lives.

Hanschen, who has been busy with reading something on his phone, sighs annoyedly and forces himself to not roll his eyes when he turns towards his best friend. “Yeah, and I always thought you’re pretty smart, but apparently both of us were wrong.”

It gets him a sharp sting to his scalp when Ilse tugs violently on his hair, which nearly makes him hiss, but Hanschen Rilow wouldn’t be Hanschen Rilow if he couldn’t cover that up with a determined grinding of his teeth.

“No, like, when we were kids. Because Thea’s hair was never that insane shade of blonde and yours just got lighter and lighter when hers got darker. _Everyone_ thought your parents dyed your hair back then, don’t be a bitch about it now,” Ilse explains and finally leaves Hanschen’s hair alone to reach for her own phone that is in the pocket of her jacket.

This time Hanschen can’t help himself and rolls his eyes. “You know full well that I would never let my parents touch my hair. And you telling me this just proofs that our friends aren’t really as smart as they think they are.”

Ilse snorts while tapping onto her screen with a faint smile on her face. Something must have gotten her into a good mood and now it’s Hanschen’s plan to find out who or what caused that.

“Did I miss something?” he asks bluntly and props his elbow on his drawn-in knee to rest his chin onto the palm of his hand.

Ilse’s smile grows wider, but it’s less joyful and much more suspicious – no good comes from it. “Moritz has a crush on you,” she says and immediately giggles.

Hanschen huffs out his breath. “Yeah, that’s just his pent up sexual frustration because Melchior is oblivious to the giant crush he has on him. It won’t last forever.”

Ilse still giggles, but eyes him cautiously. “But will you act on it?”

“God, _no_. Not Moritz Stiefel. He’s nice and has good intentions, but he’s so not my type,” Hanschen answers in a dramatic fashion. Because Hanschen does everything in a dramatic fashion. Maybe he will grow out of it, but Ilse doubts it.

Ilse moves closer until their shoulders are pressed together and rests her own chin on Hanschen’s shoulder and, ugh, she’s just too close. Hanschen hates when people get that close to him and are the ones who invade his personal space, and although Ilse is his best friend, that doesn’t mean she gets a free pass to skip over his boundaries.

“Dark-haired, deep in thoughts, sweet smile, probably troublesome. The last time I checked that was your type.” Ilse responses, her nose mashed into Hanschen’s cheek.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Hanschen says and draws his face back, his whole body following until there’s some space between him and Ilse again. “I am not going for just _anything_ , Ilse, and you know it. Cut me some slack here.”

Ilse looks at him silently for the good of a whole minute, seemingly deep in thoughts, and nods slowly.

“Okay. I let Ernst know.”

Hanschen shuts his eyes and sighs defeated. Why is it never easy with that girl? Why can’t she just let him live his life in peace for more than five minutes? He’s not that horrible of a person to deserve something like this, despite what everyone thinks of him. And God, well, God can suck it and leave him for Hell but He just can’t let Hanschen suffer in this life. That’s just cruel. All that stress is bad for his skin.

“Did you know Wendla has a crush on Melchior?”

Ilse punches him so hard that he falls backwards, but that was worth it.

 

*

Ernst is busy with explaining something to Otto and Hanschen is about one second away from snapping. Why, he is not sure, but recently his body is that new kind of tense whenever Ernst is around other people and it’s the first time ever in his life that Hanschen has no real idea how to deal with his infortune.

It makes him _mad_.

“You know, I thought fucking Robel was supposed to make you calmer but you’re more an uptight bitch than ever.”

Disgusting Bobby Maler is appearing at his side and when Hanschen could keep the notion to gag down before, he has a really hard time right now. It’s a fucking offense that the guy is still bold enough to talk to him, when Hanschen could murder him without even a hint of remorse during his lunch break and no one would bat an eye at him when he returns to class covered in Bobby’s blood. If there’s a reason for Hanschen being as cold as he is around other people, then it’s Bobby. No one else ever got under Hanschen’s skin the way he did and it’s a shame Bobby is still walking around freely.

Maybe he should set Thea on that one. She would make him disappear without anyone asking questions.

“Get away from me,” Hanschen spits. “Right now, or, _God help myself_ , I can’t guarantee for anything.”

Bobby has the nerve to laugh at that, his horrible cheerful laugh that reminds Hanschen of light-blue walls and an old bass next to a wooden bed-frame. He wants to vomit.

“That bad, huh? Or is he the kind of guy who’s celibate?” Bobby needles. “I _heard_ he wants to be a priest when he’s older.”

Hanschen draws in a calming breath and tells himself to tame his temper. No use in punching Bobby when no one can see him doing it.

“I don’t give one singular fuck about what you hear, Bobby, and now get away. I’m pretty sure there’s an ugly bass that needs some fine-tuning. Or maybe that’s just you because the sound your mouth makes gives me the faint impression you’re just as shitty.” Hanschen answers, his voice as cold as steel.

His walls are drawn up so high that even Ernst, who is coming over to them, can’t make him soften the lines of his face when his hand takes Hanschen’s and pulls him a step back, out of Bobby Maler’s space and onto neutral ground.

Bobby’s eyes bore into Hanschen’s, but he doesn’t say another word before he turns around and leaves to whatever hole made him crawl out of hell.

Hanschen could scream.

“Hanschen? Do you need a minute to yourself?” Ernst asks carefully and _bless him_ for being the most compassionate human being on planet earth. Anyone else would have just told Hanschen to get on with his life, but there’s Ernst, who doesn’t even know the full story and yet still treats Hanschen the way he thinks is the most appropriate for the situation.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

Ernst leads him outside towards the vineyard and doesn’t say another word. Not even when Hanschen is decompressing all his piled-up rage and tension in a fit of screaming into his shoulder. Not even when Hanschen buries his head into the grass and closes his eyes until the only thing he can feel is Ernst’s legs brushing his torso and the only thing in his ears despite the ringing is the sound of Ernst’s pencil scratching over the paper of his sketch book.

Hanschen is sure he doesn’t deserve something as good as him.

 

*

Hanschen hears about Moritz not from Ilse, surprisingly, and neither from Melchior.

The news of Moritz’ suicide come to him in the form of Ernst banging against the front door of the Rilow home in a manic attempt, an unsteady rhythm of loud knocks that makes Hanschen jump up from his seat at the kitchen table and leave his sisters and his mother behind in curiosity.

He rips the door open and before even recognizing each other, Ernst crumbles against his shoulder and chest like a crushing brick building. Hanschen, not knowing what disturbed his boyfriend in such a manner, just embraces him in his arms and holds him tight while he can feel the rapid shaking of Ernst’s whole body against his.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright,” Hanschen repeats quietly into Ernst’s ear and helps him come inside.

Ernst drops his jacket onto the floor and more or less stumbles out of his shoes without leaving Hanschen out of reach one bit and once he’s finished he just clings to Hanschen again, so Hanschen does the only sensible thing that will help Ernst calm down and carries him upstairs into his room, knowing fully well how his sister stared at the scene that folded out in their hallway.

Once he has seated Ernst and himself onto his bed, Hanschen brings a bit of distance between them and looks at Ernst. His boyfriend’s face is as white as a sheet, a nearly greenish tone of paleness, except for the skin around his eyes which is red. Tears are mercilessly streaming down his face and have probably did so for a while now, because his cheeks are stained wet when Hanschen carefully touches him.

“Ernst?” He asks, treating him with caution.

Whatever caused Ernst to break down like that can only be the most horrible thing in the world and it’s not in Hanschen’s imagination to think about what that may be. It makes his heart already turn into heavy iron in his chest.

“Moritz,” Ernst breathes out, but before he can continue another sob shakes through him.

God, it hurts so much to look at him that Hanschen is close to turn away and close his eyes, but, no, he can’t. He knows that Ernst needs him now, that this is not a trivial matter they will forget about. He just knows it. And it’s about Moritz no less. If Hanschen would show disinterest now, he would just be the cold and nasty bitch everybody else sees in him.

And he is not that.

He is _not_ that.

“Yes, what’s with Moritz?” Hanschen proposes.

Ernst shakes his head, taking in a breath that just ends in a shudder.

“He’s, he – they found him. Just- this morning. There was a gun. He didn’t- he. He wouldn’t- Not Moritz. He-“

Realization dawns on Hanschen like an ice-cold wave crashing over him and drowning him, like someone cut his lungs off any air to breathe, and when he looks at Ernst again his shock must be visible, because the other boy just nods before he breaks into another fit of tears.

Hanschen reaches out just like he did downstairs and hugs him tight, let’s Ernst tears soak through his own shirt for a time that feels like infinity. His hands are cold despite the heat of his room and Ernst’s body right against his and Hanschen wonders if Moritz’ hands were cold when he held that gun. Asks himself if Ilse feels even colder on the inside than on the outside although it’s in the middle of winter. Asks himself if Melchior will ever make it through another day without feeling solely empty because his intellect could not save the one person he wanted to save most. He asks himself what it means that Ernst immediately went to him when he possibly just heard the news from his own parents. If it’s another declaration of the words Hanschen can’t seem to pronounce out loud. If it’s proof that Bobby Maler was never right and that he has a heart that is intact.

He asks himself how desperately Moritz wanted everything to stop.

The boy, who always sat next to him in class, who – despite his sleepiness and laziness – shared a few of the most remarkable moments with Hanschen in their academic life and their youth in general, who never told Hanschen but knew that Hanschen always knew about Melchior. The boy, who left an imprint on him that may not run as deep as the ones he left on Melchior, Ilse or Ernst, but who left one nonetheless.

Did he feel any pain?  
  
Hanschen hopes he didn’t. Hanschen hopes, that despite the ones he left behind, he felt a sense of relief.

“It will be alright. It will all just be alright.” He repeats it to Ernst so many times until he’s pretty sure he repeats it for himself as well. Even when his voice starts to break and his vision gets too blurry from the tears he can’t hold back.

Even then, he tells himself that it will all be alright.

 

*

 

Hanschen graduates. He’s second best in class, having lost the position of valedictorian to Melchior, but he can live with that when he sees Melchior smile honestly for the first time in three years.  
  
After Moritz’s suicide, it was hard for all of them to get their groove back, especially for the people around Hanschen. He’s seen Ernst’s grief from up close and also had something resembling a front row seat to Ilse’s and it was the worst thing Hanschen ever had to experience in his life. It struck like lightning into their small inclusive group of friends and, how cliché it sounds, changed them all. Even Bobby Maler could take a step back during that time and let all grudges rest.

How they all made it to the other side must be a testament to their strength.

Once a year it’s still tougher to deal with daily teenage life, but Hanschen has managed to handle himself during that day. Most of his energy is spent on Ernst – who is still with him, and Hanschen does not plan on changing that any time ever – and trying to remind him that their life is good and they’re still so young and have so many great things ahead of them. Ilse and Wendla found each other about a year ago, and since then Hanschen has a bit more room to breathe as well, because he can be sure that they take care of each other and Wendla’s child how they deserve most.

Hanschen will go to college to become a lawyer and although he got some raised eyebrows for this, he feels it in his guts that it’s the right thing to do. Majoring in business was a runner-up, but if he had to deal with more dumb people, who think they can make decisions to stroke their ego while ignoring the well-being of others, than he’d probably be arrested for homicide before he’s thirty. He had enough of that with Bobby Maler and sees no need to spend his life surrounded by people like him.

“I’m proud of you,” Thea says to him when they sit in the backyard of their home after his graduation ceremony.

It’s a warm summer night and the sun is about to set and it’s peaceful in a way school never was. Maybe Hanschen just feels like this because such an immense weight is lifted from his shoulders and he’ll move out and away from this godforsaken place in two months.

“Thank you,” he tells her and bumps her shoulder with his. Leaving Thea behind is the bitter side to it all. But knowing she follows him suit in a year mends a small fraction of the guilt he feels inside.

“You know, it was really sweet of you to let Melchior get ahead in Physics,” she mentions into the warm silence.

Hanschen snorts. Of course she knows. There’s nothing Thea doesn’t know, even when Hanschen isn’t telling her stuff. She’s a Rilow, after all.

“Yeah. I thought that he could use it. Plus, I could invest a bit more time away from my text book and spent it with Ernst instead, so it was a victory for everyone involved.”

Thea eyes him with a fond expression on her face that Hanschen detects as pure sibling love. If he wouldn’t be the same when it comes to her, he would be a bit grossed out by so much shown affection. “If the people knew, you had such a big heart,” she muses.

“We Rilows don’t do affection out in the open, Thea. I have a reputation, after all,” he reminds her, matter of factly.

Thea sighs. “I know. But you got that stamp after Bobby Maler-“

“Stop!” Hanschen holds up the palms of his hands in defense, but the cutting tone of his voice would have been enough to stop Thea from going there. They _don’t_ go there. They left it all behind – Hanschen has left it all behind. Has detached himself from these memories until they didn’t feel like his own anymore and it was for the better. “This is behind me. I never want to think about him again,” or how he wrecked Hanschen and has left only ruins in the wake of his destruction that took years to rebuild into something resembling the Hanschen from before.

He never wants to encounter Bobby Maler again. Not if he can’t avoid it.

“Okay,” Thea accepts and pushes Hanschen’s hands down and onto the grass again. “But let me just say that I will make his life hell whenever I get a chance in the future.”

Hanschen nods. “And nobody will find his body?”

Thea grins and her blue eyes are just a shade darker than Hanschen’s own. Their parents will probably look for them soon, now that the sun has completely set and it’s only a faint blue surrounding them. It reminds Hanschen of the blanket fords they built when they were kids.

“Nobody will find his body,” she reassures him and it makes leaving this behind a bit easier.

 

*

 

Moving in with Ilse maybe not have been his best idea, Hanschen thinks as he carries her last box of books into their flat. He never remembered her having so many of them. This must be Wendla’s bad influence on her because the last time Hanschen checked Wendla had two shelfs full of the weirdest stories he ever heard of. (He’s more of a classical literature kind of guy, that has not changed.)

When he makes it through the door and into Ilse’s room, he lowers the box unceremoniously behind the threshold to let Ilse take care of it and goes into their living room space, where named roommate, Ernst and Wendla are seated on and around the couch.

“The last box made it in here and if I ever have to read one of your books, I’m going to throw it at your head,” Hanschen declares, mainly to Ilse and squeezes onto the couch next to Ernst.

Despite the foul comment, Ilse beams at him and stands up to fling her arms around him in a tight hug. Hanschen only freezes slightly at the sudden motion. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“I _know_ I am the best. What’s new?” Hanschen retorts, which earns him a pinch.

Thankfully, Ilse doesn’t violate him any more and retreats onto the ground next to Wendla, propping her head into her lap. Wendla just chuckles and starts to card her hands through Ilse’s short hair.

Ernst melts against Hanschen’s side, who puts his arm around his boyfriend’s form, and stretches his long legs over the side of the couch while Hanschen draws one of his knees up to his chest to rest his chin there, a habit he never really could let go of. It’s relaxing and it feels right and it’s a comfortable familiarity in this new space. Lucky for him, Ernst and Wendla managed to find a flat just down the street, so he doesn’t have to travel miles to see Ernst – which he would, of course, he has the money for it – but they’re not in the same college. While Hanschen will start his classes at a university, Ernst made it into the arts school he gushed about so many times and that’s totally okay with Hanschen, because seeing his boyfriend’s dreams come true is one of his absolute favourite things. 

“We should go out for dinner this evening, to celebrate,” Hanschen suggests.

This makes Wendla look up in excitement, a giddiness returning to her relaxed features. “We definitely should! Ada is with my mother for the rest of the weekend and our classes won’t start until next week, so we should totally toast to our freedom.”

Hanschen nods and Ernst lifts his head. “And to a new beginning,” he adds.

“To a new beginning with old friends,” Ilse finishes.

In this moment, Hanschen feels like he has the three most incredible people in the world in his living room. Ernst takes his hand in his and his heart still beats faster at the gesture and the warmth spreading through him lets Hanschen feel just as good, if not even better.

“My treat, because I’m generous that way and you won’t forget it,” he tells them.

The girls squeal happily and throw themselves onto Hanschen and Ernst, the four of them ending in a giant hug that makes Hanschen nearly suffocate. But he is right, it’s alright.

 

*

 

Hanschen is twenty and college is different than school but it’s much more bearable. Most of the people in his classes aren’t that smart despite them studying law, but they’re hard-working and mainly have good intentions, which Hanschen can tolerate. Up until now, the pool of students has shrunken to a solid twenty people who always attend and who made it through every exam, so he, at least, has a clue of who most of them are and what drives them forward.

He’s top of the class in all his courses. No one is surprised by it and without Melchior there to beat or challenge him it can even get boring in some cases, but over the last four semesters he found ways to stay occupied when one of the lighter brains seeks their professors out about the simplest questions. It’s as if some of them never touch a text book or the damn constitution till finals are near and their life i.e. carrier basically depends on it.

How one can survive with such a work ethic is foreign to Hanschen. He might get shit from Ilse when he’s staying awake to study instead of joining her movie nights with Wendla and/or Ernst, but he reminds them that it’s all for his future and he won’t throw that away. Not that he spends all his free-time like this, he is still Hanschen Rilow, and a good dinner accompanied by an even better party with Ernst as his date is something he will never say no to, not even when the law depends on him.

It’s funny like that, how Ernst is the priority in his life and how, after nearly five years of dating, he loves him more each day. There’s no one who fits like Ernst does. Hanschen is also fairly sure that anyone else would have deserted him by now, especially when the end of the semester comes around and he buries himself in his books. But Ernst is just like he always has been and instead of being annoyed, helps Hanschen with studying for his tests and reminds him to take breaks and to not stress too much.

Needlessly to say, Hanschen never failed one of his finals. About half of it is Ernst’s merit and after every exam is done and the results are in Hanschen expresses his gratitude generously.

What’s something that Hanschen still has to adjust to is that most people call him Hans now. Except for his friends and his family of course. But whenever he’s in class or at work – despite what one might think Hanschen is not only spending his family’s money but also works to earn his own share – it’s their usual way to approach him, when they’re not calling him _Herr Rilow_. It’s a bit weird because Hanschen’s whole life up until then has been dominated by the reoccurring nickname his mother gave him and his whole hometown adapted, but he figures out that he should get used to it. He just hasn’t heard his actual name in so long, not even Ernst calls him that except for when they’re fighting and that does not happen as often as some people might wish for.

“Hans, do you know the answer to that?”  
  
There it is. Hanschen rolls his eyes, but turns around to help one of his fellow students out. They always come to him for help although his resting bitch face is close to perfection and should shoo them away. Must be his undeniable good looks because he can’t pass as looking trust-worthy or approachable. He doesn’t want to look like they can just walk up to him and bother them with their trivial problems.

But, a Rilow does not back down, not even from the smallest matter, so Hanschen turns around in his seat and helps the girl who has been checking him out since the start of the semester. How she can’t figure out that he has a boyfriend when Ernst picks him up after most of his morning courses to eat lunch together and they’re the most PDA-using couple in the whole of Germany (Ilse’s words, not his) is beyond him, but he can’t blame her. He has a great ass, after all.

“Of course. Where are you stuck?”

He helps her sort out the answer until their lecturer asks and he nudges her enough to raise her hand and propose the solution for the case they’ve been assigned. The answer is right, no surprise there, and the girl thanks him endlessly after class.

“No, really, it’s been my pleasure,” Hanschen says as she gushes about how smart he is. As she asks him if he’s free for a study session next weekend he can see Ernst appearing in the doorway.

“I’d love to,” Hanschen tells her, “But my boyfriend and mine’s anniversary is coming up and I promised him to let the law rest for a few days.”  
  
Her face falls visibly and she stammers something about not knowing he’s in a relationship and gay as well and Hanschen does his best to suppress the wince that wants to crawl up his throat at hearing that. She doesn’t know better, Hanschen tells himself, and at least she won’t bother him with love-struck stares anymore.

“It’s fine, really,” he reassures her. “And I’m sure you’ll find someone who treats you right.”

“You think so?” she asks surprised, her eyes big and round, reminding Hanschen of those comics Ilse used to obsess over as a teenager.

Hanschen nods and gives her a curt smile. “I do.” He says, and he really does. Everyone deserves to be loved and most of all when they’re good people. Maybe not everyone wants a love like Hanschen’s – bold and consuming and enchanting – but they surely deserve something resembling it. Although Hanschen thinks nothing can compare to Ernst and him. “And I’m sorry to cut that short, but my boyfriend is waiting for me.”

She laughs, not as nervous as before now, thank God, but freely. So, not a bruised heart, then. Good for her. “Alright. Have a good day, you two. I’ll see you tomorrow, Hans.”  
  
“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” Hanschen lifts his hand in a farewell before he turns around.

When he’s close enough, Ernst grabs for his hands and greets him in a sweet kiss. They part and the brunette eyes him questioningly. “What was that about?”

“Oh, well. I helped her with a question she probably already knew the answer to and then she tried to ask me out.” Hanschen waves off and Ernst picks up the meaning immediately.

“And you let her down?” He asks as they walk out of the building, his hand intertwined with Hanschen’s.

Hanschen shrugs. “I didn’t lead her on, at least. She just never figured out that the guy picking me up most days and kissing me is my boyfriend. So, I told her.”

Ernst places a chaste kiss on Hanschen’s cheek. “And you broke another heart in your wake.

Hanschen brushes him off, but laughs. “I’m not breaking anyone’s heart. She took it pretty well.”

“Well, you don’t know that. Tonight, she will sit in her bed, watching every movie with Chris Pine in it because, in her mind, he resembles you the most and although she never liked Star Trek, she will cry into the dinner she made herself to blow off some stress.” Ernst muses and it makes Hanschen wonder from where his boyfriend takes his never-ending imagination.

“Chris Pine? Really?” Hanschen asks instead.

Ernst nods feverously. “Definitely. Ryan Gosling reminds her too much of her High School sweetheart.”

Hanschen snorts. “You’re impossible, you know? Plus, I look better than Chris Pine.”  
  
“Especially in yellow.” Ernst agrees, which makes Hanschen look at him with raised eyebrows.

“Hey, I never said Chris Pine is hotter than you. You’re the most handsome man I know,” he defends. Honestly, sometimes he tends to forget how much validation Hanschen needs, although he is the one human across land and sea resembling Adonis the most. It can be a hardship to remind him of it constantly.

“You just know what to say,” Hanschen responses with a grin.

 

*

 

It was only a matter of time and when five years turned into six and then seven and Ada turned six as well, Hanschen moved out of Ilse’s and his flat to make room for Wendla and Ada and moved into a brand-new apartment with Ernst.

  
They still live not more than a ten-minute bus ride away from their best friend’s flat, but in a part of the city much closer to Hanschen’s university and the office he started working in a few months ago, as well as the art studio Ernst shares with Ilse. While Hanschen is still working on his law degree, Ernst graduated and works full-time as an artist. It brings him so much joy and he’s the happiest he’s ever been in his life and it uplifts Hanschen’s mood even on his worst days.

Hanschen also helps Melchior, who is somehow in the middle of writing his doctor-thesis and lecturing about some astrology-stuff at the university, out sometimes with grading his essays because the guy still has the most horrible understanding of grammar Hanschen came across in his life. And, besides finding great joy in Melchior’s academic trouble whenever it occurs, it helps Hanschen to take of his mind off law drafts and cases.

So, it’s going pretty great, which means Hanschen comes to the natural conclusion that there’s only one thing missing in his life. He’s twenty-two and has never been more sure of himself when he kneels down in front of Ernst, right in the vineyard they first kissed in and Ernst told him he loved him for the first time.

“I know I’m bad at letting you know how much I love you, and I am much better with actions than with words. You’re kind of the wordsmith between us two, but let me just try and say what I want to. We started our relationship when we were insanely young and anyone around us took bets how long it would take me to chew you up and spit you out and I can’t blame them for it. I was a train wreck, back then. But you, Ernst, you were the first person who could see beyond that. And whenever I act like the biggest asshole in the world or the worst diva you’ve ever known after Melchior, you’re still there to kiss me and tell me how great I am. And I just hope that I could show you how much you mean to me every day in the time we’ve been together. You’re my best friend and the best person I know. You reminded me I have a _heart_. You’re the best thing my life could come up with and I want to spend the rest of our time together until the night comes up when we can say how unbelievable it was when we kissed here and even after that. I love you so much and I want to show you for the rest of our lives.” Hanschen takes in a deep breath and his eyes don’t leave Ernst’s face, who looks absolutely stunned. “Will you do me the biggest honour and marry me? So I can brag about you until I take my last breath?”

Ernst’s answer is the best kiss Hanschen has ever gotten in his entire life and a “God, yes. Of course. Any time. Always,” breathed into his mouth and Hanschen is officially the happiest man on the planet.

There were a few times in the past that came close to the happiness and joy Hanschen feels right now. When he was a child and his father told him how proud he was of Hanschen for being the best in his class. When he beat Melchior in year ten and transitioned as top of the class. When Thea told him that he’s her role model. When he slapped Bobby Maler so hard that even Wendla was speechless. When he and Ernst slept together for the first time. When Ernst told him he loved him.

But nothing can beat the ridiculous feeling of love that’s inside of him right now, that just spreads further through his body with every new kiss they share, with every sweet word that Ernst whispers into his mouth and into his skin. He holds him so close and they’re sharing the same heat and the same shivers and when Hanschen laughs, Ernst laughs as well, and when Hanschen tells him how much he loves him, Ernst responses in telling him that he loves him even more, and when Ernst looks up into the clear night sky to catch a breath, Hanschen looks at him and his breath gets caught in his throat.

It's the most beautiful sight Hanschen has ever been lucky enough to take in.

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” Ernst says and it’s the equivalent to I love you but better, somehow so much better.

Hanschen kisses him again.

“It already started.”

 

*

 

Hanschen is on the verge of twenty-five when he and Ernst get married.

The ceremony is in their hometown and only their closest friends and family are there. Thea and Ilse are his best women and Wendla’s is Ernst’s. Ada is carrying the rings up the small aisle and his mother cries so much that Hanschen can hear it from his place next to Ernst. During their vows, Ernst’s parents sob loudly as well and for one short second, in which Hanschen’s attention isn’t on Ernst, he’s asking himself when _his_ family became such sentimental people? Must have been the influence of Ernst on them or it’s always been there and just skipped Hanschen.

The reception and party are less teary and Hanschen spends most of it with his arm around Ernst, while he holds a champagne flute in his free hand.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier,” Ernst whispers into his ear when they’re standing outside Hanschen’s childhood home and look at all their guests who mingle around or inside the house.

Hanschen agrees, resting his forehead against Ernst’s temple and closing his eyes to let the perfection of this moment, this day – his life – wash over him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been luckier.”

Ernst swats at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Hanschen kisses the skin in reach and holds Ernst a bit closer. “I’m not,” he replies. “I mean it. Nothing will ever beat this. Not ever. Not even taking the bar and opening my own firm could beat this. When I told you that you’re the best thing in my life, I was serious. I still am. Honestly, Ernst. Believe me.”

Ernst’s hand moves into the back pocket of Hanschen’s suit trousers and he tugs himself against Hanschen’s side in a way he did a thousand times in the years they’ve been together.

“You’re the greatest husband anyone could ask for.”

Hanschen smiles and kisses Ernst on the mouth, who eagerly reciprocates. “And you’re the sweetest thing, still, after all these years.”

They get interrupted by Melchior Gabor, who comes up to them with careful steps. He’s wearing a dark grey suit, nearly black, and Hanschen wonders if he ever saw him in any other colour since Moritz’ death.

“Congrats, you two,” he greets them and after shaking Hanschen’s hand, he gets drawn into a hug by Ernst.

“It’s so great you could come, Melchior!” Ernst exclaims as he returns into Hanschen’s arms.

Melchior, who looks extremely out of his depth here, nods and bites his lip. “Yeah, I’m glad I was invited. I nearly couldn’t make it, but now I’m here and I’m happy to see you two finally tie the knot.”

So much sentiment directed at something Hanschen is involved in out of Melchior’s mouth should sound fake but as much as it is rehearsed, Hanschen knows it’s well-meant. Melchior never really returned to his old self and seeing him go out of his way like this and attending their wedding is as much as a shock to Hanschen as it is a delight for his husband.

“Well, we’re so glad you’re here! The whole gang is back together now and I’m pretty sure Wendla has been lamenting to Ilse about your absence since the end of the ceremony,” Ernst tells him.

Melchior raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “Really?”  
  
Hanschen nods. “Really. So, you’d better go inside. I’m sure there’s a lot of catching up to do and dinner will start soon.”

Melchior congratulates them both one more time before he leaves them on their own again, Wendla finding him on the doorstep and taking him inside with her and offering Hanschen and Ernst a grateful smile over her shoulder as she stirs him into the dining hall.

“You’re a good man, Hanschen Rilow.”

Hanschen looks at Ernst, who smiles his brightest smile and bows down to kiss Hanschen deeply.

“The best of them all, and I can’t believe you’re mine forever.”

The sun shines down on them and it’s the perfect September day and Hanschen holds the world in his arms. From where they stand, he can see his mother and Thea showing everyone to their seats and at one table Ilse and Wendla play hide and seek with Ada and Melchior. The rest of their friends are scattered around the backyard and the house and he can even see Ernst’s father talking animatedly to Georg.

Hanschen lies his hand onto Ernst’s chest and he can feel the beating of his heart.

It’s alright. More than alright even.

 

*

 

There are things in life you have to do on your own because no one but your own self can help you and understands what’s going on inside you.

Hanschen learns this when he has his own law firm for about a year and on a rather grey November day no one else than Bobby Maler stumbles into his office, looking like he committed a murder.

Well, to be fair, he probably could have done that, even had it in him when they were teenagers. Or at least that’s how Hanschen felt like when he got dumbed like garbage after months of toing around each other and one shag. But Hanschen buries this deep down into the darkest corner of his brain when he faces him and puts on his most professional exterior.

“Bobby Maler, _long_ time no see,” he grits through his teeth, a long-forgotten coldness clawing up his chest and into his veins as the other man sits down in front of him. “What brings you here out of all places? Hopefully no trouble?”

Hanschen’s smile is sickly sweet and he can feel a part of his insides starting to rot away just by the sheer sight of Bobby positioning himself in the chair on the other side of Hanschen’s desk. He’s still undeniably handsome, but he has lost that spark that drew Hanschen in the first time about ten years ago. Plus, Hanschen has Ernst, had him for so long and Bobby doesn’t compare to his light.

“No,” Bobby shakes his head. “Or, well, not as serious as you may imagine, Hanschen.”

“ _Hans_. Or Herr Rilow. We’re at my workplace, after all.” Hanschen reminds him in a steely tone.

This will not be easy, Hanschen thinks as Bobby stares at him dumbstruck for something that must resemble two minutes before he catches himself. Dear God, this will _so_ not be easy.

“Okay. Hans. You see, I knocked up some girl.” Hanschen cringes only slightly in his seat at these words. “And now she’s fighting for custody. She doesn’t want me to see the child but, like, I want to be a good father to this kid.”

Hanschen raises an eyebrow. “So?”

Bobby rubs a palm over the back of his neck – a nervous habit he had since Elementary School – and groans. At least he looks as uncomfortable as Hanschen feels. That’s a good thing. “You have a reputation,” he states as if that isn’t as vague as anything else that left his mouth before he left Hanschen to bleed dry on his own.

“I…. Have a reputation.” Hanschen repeats, swallowing the lump in his throat and more or less trying not to choke on the last word. Because _that_ ’s what he wants to hear Bobby say about him.

“No, no, not – not like that,” Bobby hastily interrupts Hanschen’s thoughts. “A good one. You’ve won all your cases and made the bar at the top of your year. You’re a great lawyer and I,” Bobby pauses. “I need your help.”

Hearing praise towards his abilities from Bobby Maler. That is definitely new. When Hanschen thought nothing could surprise him in this day and age anymore – and he rekindled his relationship with Melchior Gabor, so that says something – but yet here he is, alive and well, witnessing the eighth wonder of the world as it happens.

“Okay,” Hanschen declares.

Bobby looks up like it’s Christmas and his birthday at the same time and that _Hanschen_ caused that without touching him and without wanting to touch him truly must be the proof that God exit. Hanschen might have a talk with Ernst about this when he gets home tonight, because he’s seriously considering an epiphany. Or a crisis of faith but, like, the other way around. Does it even work this way? He has, by all means, no idea. He became a bit rusty over the years when it comes to church practices.

“What?” Bobby asks. “Wait, what?” he repeats a second after.

How could he have graduated from Grammar School without failing one course? And how could Hanschen ever crush one someone like him?

“Now you just sound dumb,” Hanschen says and rolls his eyes. “You understood me well enough. I said, okay. Should I spell it out for you one more time or was that clear enough? I take your case. But don’t think for one second this will be a walk in the park, women can be furies at their best times. This won’t be easy _or_ cheap.”

Bobby scrambles to his feet and shakes the hand Hanschen holds out to him in a desperate manner. Hanschen wants to gag at the skin on skin contact, but he knows better. Instead of Bobby, he was raised with some fucking manners.

“My secretary will tell you all you need to know. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”

When the door closes behind Bobby, Hanschen leans back in his seat, suddenly feeling like he hasn’t slept in years. It’s that tiredness he already felt that one time when Melchior told him that he misses Moritz after throwing his interior at the wall for God knows how long before Hanschen came to intervene. It doesn’t come often, but when it does it’s more exhausting than his morning runs in the cold weather, more than his burning lungs and aching thighs. Worse than physical exhaustion could ever beat him down.

“I thought Bobby was gay,” is all he can huff out and it makes him laugh out loud into the unoccupied space of his office.

Well, if wonders never cease, indeed.

 

*

 

The case is tough as hell, but in the end Hanschen wins.

The result is shared custody for Bobby Maler and his ex-whatever and Hanschen couldn’t care less about it, but a win is a win and victory always tastes great.

Bobby is thanking him several times for all his hard work – what the hell – and all the long nights Hanschen must have put into the case while the mother of their child looks at Hanschen as if he’s the spawn of Satan – some things truly never change, he seems to have that effect on some women – as she passes them by outside the courtroom.

His success rate is still at 100% percent and he would lie if he’d say he isn’t proud of himself. All these years spent among the usual people, staying under the radar and working his way through and up the system is worth it when he can walk out of a courtroom and home to Ernst feeling like he scored the winning goal in a world championship finale. It’s an incredible feeling and Hanschen will never get tired of it. It’s what makes it all worth it, even enduring Bobby Maler and his lack of fashion, manner and proper word choice. (Seriously, how could his fashion sense decrease like _that_ over the years? Hanschen felt second-hand embarrassment several times in the last few months.) 

“So, I guess you won today?” Ernst asks him as they lie in bed together, only the sheets crumbled up around their naked bodies, his head resting on Hanschen’s shoulder.

Hanschen grins, sharp and full of pride. “You could say that. At least that explains the look the woman of Bobby’s child gave me on her way out.”

Ernst chuckles. “Oh, must have been one of a kind.”

“Hmmmmm,” Hanschen hums into the top of Ernst’s head, placing a kiss onto the dark hair. “Worthy for the big screen. Very Julia Stiles in _10 Things I Hate About You_. Maybe even meaner.”

“You didn’t just say that,” Ernst says between several small fits of laughter, his lean form erupting with his tries to hold them in. He fails miserably and for a few minutes he’s just laughing into Hanschen’s chest, eyes drawn shut and laughter lines already crinkling around them.

It makes Hanschen rectify himself just like any other passing day in Ernst’s company. Whenever he thinks he caught the most beautiful sight in this world, his husband comes around again and throws him off. Ernst gets more gorgeous by the minute and sometimes it’s hard for Hanschen to believe he’s allowed to spend his life with this great man.

Really, he still doesn’t think he deserves it.

But here they are, Hanschen choosing Ernst every new day and Ernst doing the same in return.

“I did just say that and you better believe it. That movie is a classic and you can’t tell me that the reference wasn’t good,” Hanschen insists as his fingers brush over the soft skin on Ernst’s arm.

Ernst looks up to him and nudges him with his chin. “It wasn’t that good,” he counters. “But you pass.”

His husband is unbelievable, Hanschen is sure, and he snorts at the comment. “Too generous of you.”

Ernst grins. “I do my best, you know me.”

His index finger is trailing patterns into Hanschen’s chest that lead everywhere and nowhere and Hanschen is too tired to figure out what they all mean. Probably some architectural structures, that’s what Ernst paints and draws mostly these days, but could also be some wildflowers since they’ve always been his favourite thing to put onto Hanschen’s body with anything in reach.

It’s been a while since Hanschen modelled for his husband.

While Ernst moves onto Hanschen’s ribcage and then his lower stomach, Hanschen thinks about the idea.

“Hey, baby,” Hanschen props himself up a bit as Ernst’s index finger and thumb move down his thighs, now outlining a rose – God, he’s such a sentimentalist. “I don’t have a new case until Thursday and your next commission is due in two weeks and you’re already half-finished with it. And I thought about how it’s been a good few years since I was a model for you-“

“Don’t say another word,” Ernst interrupts him excited, stopping in the middle of his activity to climb on top of Hanschen. “We’ll do it. Yes, yes, yes.” He bows into a long and deep kiss, all pliant and happy. “You don’t know how happy that makes me.”

Well, Hanschen has an inkling. Especially because Ernst never proposes things like that on his own. He knows how uncomfortable and out of his depth Hanschen can feel when he’s pressured into doing things or feels like he’s obliged to do them. That’s why he’s not often a model for Ernst’s work, or at least, the work he shows other people. Ernst’s sketch books full of drawings of Hanschen around their house don’t count. So, him offering like that is a big deal for both of them and it never fails to make Hanschen’s entire week when he remembers that only he has the ability to make Ernst happy like that.

“You can even take pictures of it,” Hanschen tells his husband as they break their kiss.

Ernst’s smile is so wide that Hanschen fears his face will split because of it.

“I love you so much, you have _no_ idea.” Ernst whispers into his ear before he lies down next to Hanschen again and lets himself be held.

Hanschen doesn’t say it, but the way he embraces Ernst is enough of an answer, if not even more meaningful than him saying those three words.

They work well that way.

And, for Hanschen, success has never tasted better.

 

*

 

“You have to lie still.”

Hanschen is twenty-nine when his husband paints a grey and blue night sky onto his ribcage. The coast of South England is already on his chest and up his shoulders and Ernst stuck with his idea a few nights ago and put a dark purple rose onto Hanschen’s right thigh while a bouquet of wildflowers is decorating his left one. There is a moon and all its phases on one of his calves and vines are creeping up from his right foot into the rose.

All in all, Ernst has been at it for hours and Hanschen has let all his guards down around him, like, every single one he crafted around himself since he’s been thirteen. But it’s Ernst and when Hanschen trusts one person fully and without any doubt than it’s him. They’ve been together for fourteen years now and if Hanschen can’t let himself be free around him, what would it all mean, anyway? And Ernst has gone out of his way to let Hanschen feel comfortable and relaxed in his studio – Hanschen’s favourite music ( _Bowie_ ) is playing softly in the background and they take breaks after every hour to eat or to just unwind a bit from the work (it’s still work for Ernst, no matter how much he enjoys this, and if his face is anything to go by, then he enjoys himself _a lot_ ) and when Ernst paints, he tells Hanschen stories they’ve shared at least fifty times before and are mostly about their relationship and the people closest to them.

“Like that. Keep that up,” Ernst instructs as Hanschen props up one of his legs to lie a bit more comfortable on his side. He’s situated with one of Hanschen’s legs between his own ones and half-bowed over his upper body, a paint brush in one of his hands and a colour palette in the other. How he can paint all his images with no picture as resemblance and just by using his memory is a perfect reminder for Hanschen how incredible Ernst is.

Hanschen can feel the soft strokes of the brush on his side every so often, a bit colder after a few seconds whenever Ernst dips it into the fresh paint and from what Hanschen can see, the grey has turned a few shades lighter while the blue is deep and rich. When he sees the colours, he thinks about the night when he and Ernst were in Paris and it started to rain like hell but they still went outside to look at all the lights of the city from the top of Montmartre. They got soaking wet and when they got home Hanschen couldn’t visit his classes because he carried the nastiest cold out of it, but it was more than worth it. The feeling of freedom and anonymity they shared that night is such a singular and profound memory Hanschen automatically connects with the paint that’s now put onto his skin that he has to smile involuntary.

“What you’re smiling at?” Ernst asks, his eyes still drawn to his work, now moving a bit lower to Hanschen’s hip.

Hanschen looks up at Ernst and then at the ceiling, a high and white wall. Blank as the canvases surrounding their intimate affair. It feels like the first time they’ve done this, Hanschen must admit, how the blood runs hot in his veins whenever Ernst decorates him with a new painting.

“Paris. That night we half-died because we wanted to see the city from above.”

“Yeah, well, don’t know _whose_ idea that was,” Ernst retorts fondly, his voice warm and familiar and _home_.

“It was worth it! And a pretty great idea, you got to admit that,” Hanschen defends and earns himself a slap on one of his thighs for not lying still enough.

Ernst rolls his eyes, a habit he definitely picked up from Hanschen about twelve years ago. “It was worth it. And it was beautiful. And you were a total pain in the ass the whole week after,” he declares.

Hanschen waves off. “Appreciate my spontaneity at least. It was the only thing that wasn’t planned during the trip.”

His husband smiles, but then his brows furrow as he mixes a new colour up, the paint brush between his teeth. “I appreciate your spontaneity,” he mumbles around it. “And the hopeless romantic in you. And everything else about you.”

“My ego says thank you,” Hanschen tells him, relaxing his muscles and loosening up his posture a bit.

“And so it should,” Ernst grins happily, the expression not leaving his face, even when he keeps on painting.

“It’s been seven years since we went there,” Hanschen says, his hand drifting up to run through Ernst’s hair. “Let’s go again, soon.”

Ernst looks at him with the softest look humanly possible and it makes Hanschen wonder if he’s even real or if Hanschen has dreamed him up when he was an unsatisfied teenager, who wanted satisfaction more than love but desired love more than satisfaction. Back then, he didn’t know he could have both at the same time.

“We will,” Ernst agrees. “When work slows down and you have days off. And we’ll stay in that place we stayed in the first time we visited. We’ll visit Notre Dame again and the Louvre and the Pantheon and you can buy all the wine you want. We can look up at the stars while getting completely soaking wet in the autumn rain and you can kiss me and quote some classical movie at me.”  
  
Hanschen breaks into a smile. “I know why I married you.”

Ernst puts the palette down and takes Hanschen’s hand in his. “I could say the same. You’re hopeless, but in the best way.”

A self-defined shrug and prideful eyes are the answer. “What can I say?”

Ernst lets his hand go with a small laugh, a sound so warm and peaceful that it reminds Hanschen of the sun and the summer, and continues painting in silence. He finishes the piece on Hanschen’s side and now moves on to his arm. He paints his hands a dark red and follows the colour up his arm into a cherry tree that spreads up Hanschen’s neck until the last branch ends under Hanschen’s jaw and sets itself into the coast on his shoulder, painting branches and cherries all around one side of Hanschen’s face while the trunk turns into dark soil and then the red on his hands. Once he’s finished, he moves onto the other arm, which soon turns into a flock of sea gulls that travel towards the coast and the cherry tree.

“You are beautiful when you’re naked,” Ernst breathes into the space between Hanschen’s jaw and shoulder. “But you are absolutely breathtaking when you’re covered in art.”

Hanschen knows exactly why he lets all his guards down around only one person in this whole world. No one else makes him feel so right.

 

*

 

It took him thirty years to discover himself fully and, as a result, come into his own.

Some people take longer than him and there are also people who will never figure themselves out, so Hanschen is alright with that. He made his peace with it, somehow. Stress is something he has enough of in his daily life, so he doesn’t want to stress about himself and his future anymore. There’s no need.

He has a loving family that supports him and his crazy choices every time. He has incredible friends, that still haven’t grown annoyed with him and his, sometimes pointless, antics and love to get him away from the courtrooms and law books that fill his usual week schedule. And, on top of it all, he has the most amazing man by his side, loving him and choosing to love him all the time, with no end in sight ever.

So, why should he complain? Why should he throw a fit?

Why should he think of the past and let himself be haunted by it when his current life is so much better and so much more worth obsessing over?

There’s no need. No need, at all.

It’s in the middle of winter and his house if filled with people. Ilse is sitting next to him and laughing at something Ada has done to Melchior – probably brushed his horrible attempts of parenting off as another one of his science experiments. With thirteen, it’s likely to happen. – while Wendla is talking to Thea about a new fashion trend they both seem to be interested in. At least they’re wearing similar outfits and are gushing about each other, but Hanschen could be wrong. He never knows with his sister and a one of a kind woman like Wendla. They could talk about anything in the world and have the time of their lives. Hell, they could talk about Thea’s last ex and shred him to pieces with their words and could looks as delighted as right now.

Well, Hanschen wouldn’t change a thing about that.

Ernst is sitting down next to him, his legs on one side of the couch and his head resting on Hanschen’s shoulder, his hand naturally finding Hanschen’s and one thumb brushing over the wedding band on Hanschen’s ring finger – a soothing motion to reassure each other that they’re here, that it’s alright.

“When we were kids, I always thought you dyed your hair,” he muses, his free hand brushing through Hanschen’s light-blond hair.

Hanschen has the faintest feeling of déjà vu and turns towards Ilse first, who keeps down a giggle, and then towards Ernst, a sharp smile decorating his features. “I always thought you were innocent when we got to know each other, but apparently, we both were wrong, darling.”

“Oh, now _that’s_ a comeback,” Ilse whistles from the other end of the couch, letting Melchior handle Ada while she’s following the conversation of her two friends.

“If I wouldn’t know you, I’d think you’re insulting me,” Ernst remarks and kisses Hanschen’s temple sweetly.

Hanschen, who has been watching everyone else in the room, is now only focused on the man next to him, snorting at the comment, but not drawing back at the display of affection. “I love you too, you know."

Ernst lights up instantly and his smile is just as sweet as the kiss he gave Hanschen, a flower breaking through the cold winter snow to witness the first rays of sunlight to make it grow. When Hanschen turned into such a sappy poet, he’s not sure, but it must have happened between studying for his bar and proposing to Ernst.

“Yeah,” Ernst answers. “I know.”

They share a real kiss and Hanschen closes his eyes, reminds himself to save the taste of Ernst for all the times they’re apart, how cheesy it may be. But a long time ago he learned to seizure every moment and not let it slip through his hands. A long time ago he learned to love a boy and not stop loving him when he became a man. A long time ago he learned that you leave imprints on others without wanting it or not. A long time ago he learned how to make peace with demons from your past and how to teach others the same. A long time ago he learned not to forgive everyone that hurt you, especially when the scars run deep. A long time ago he learned that home is nothing but a person, nothing but whenever he’s with Ernst.

A long time ago he learned, in the hardest way possible, to keep going despite tragedies and breakdowns and people trying to tear you down. Because, and that stuck with him, it will all turn out alright in the end. It will be alright one day.

And sometimes one day comes sooner than one might think.

“Did you know how happy I am?” he whispers against Ernst’s lips as they part.

Ernst rolls his eyes, but a smile stays on his face for the rest of the day and that makes it all worth it.

Hanschen wouldn’t have it any other way.

Because it’s _all_ alright.

He feels alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Unoffical working title: How Moritz Stiefel posthumously influenced Hans Rilow's subconsciousness.
> 
> If the school system and academic part weirded you out, I worked with the german school system, or, well, tried to find a vague middle-ground that basically applied to all federal states. I am a poliscience major, so I only know so much about majoring in law from what I picked up during a 90-minute long explanation of it that I got from some law majors when I was in my last year in school (that I'm not studying it right now says a lot about that) and from watching courtroom dramas in my free time. Moritz never survives in my stories, and I don't know why, because it pains me just as much as you. 
> 
> For clarity: Hanschen and Ernst get together before Melchior is a fucking asshole and has sex with Wendla and before Moritz's death, obviously. Therefore Wendla's child (Ada, short for Adalind) is always a year younger than Hanschen and Ernst's relationship. At the end, she's thirteen and she will still turn fourteen later in this year while Hanschen and Ernst's fifteen-year anniversary is coming up at the end of winter. If this even makes sense. (It did while I wrote this, but my brain is horrible when it comes to math and numbers.) 
> 
> This is actually set in the same universe as IW(BTNLTL) if you couldn't tell and it's not in me to write a happy Melchior. 
> 
> thank you for reading this whole thing. I truly hope you enjoyed it. you can share your thoughs here or chat with me on tumblr (andreinbolkonsky) or twitter (xbigboysdontcry) where i am a true Hanschen Rilow stan.
> 
> friendly reminder: you are loved, you are enough and you will achieve great things. you are right just the way you are, a living and breathing thing. keep going.


End file.
